#day 04

He turns off his alarm at six. Rubs the sleep off his eyes as he pads over to the window and checks his snowman’s condition.

The nose is still there; bright orange in a sea of pure white snow.

Good.

Yawning, Eddie pulls the armchair closer to the window and perches himself on it.

And then he waits.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes.

Eddie’s eyes are heavy with sleep, the sky is still dark outside, but he forces himself to concentrate anyways because this is important; he needs to save his snowman.

At seven, the deep blue sky starts softening. Shy rays of light begin to peak on the horizon, announcing a new day.

Eddie is still perched on his armchair, vigilant.

At 7:13, it happens.

A flash of gray fur crosses Eddie’s front yard and runs straight towards the snowman. It jumps, snatches the nose from the snowman’s face, and runs back to the house across the street just as fast as it came.

Eddie blinks, stunned, just to break down laughing like crazy a few seconds later.

Holy shit, that’s a surprising turn of events right there.

Still laughing, Eddie pulls on his coat and shoes, wraps a scarf around his neck, then dashes down the stairs and out the front door. The sharp, freezing wind makes him shiver before he even sets foot outside.

His poor snowman is there, on the left side of his yard, noseless once more, but this time the sight just makes Eddie start cackling all over again, white puffs of condensed air escaping his mouth and nose with each laugh as he makes his way to the house across the street.

He hops up the three steps to the porch, rubbing his hands together for warmth before he rings the doorbell.

A few moments later, he hears footsteps approaching, then the door swings open.

“Eddie? What are you doing here so early?”

Steve’s bedhead is one of the cutest things Eddie has ever seen. He never gets tired of it, it never loses its charm no matter how many times he sees it.

This morning, though, his focus is somewhere else.

“Morning, Stevie. Do you happen to know where Cyrus is?” Eddie asks

Cuter than his bedhead is the confused face Steve makes when Eddie goes off on tangents he’s not expecting. This little frown brings his eyebrows together, his lips forming a small pout as Steve bends his head slightly to the side, like a confused puppy.

“Cyrus, my dog?” he asks, as he steps back to let Eddie in.

Eddie nods. “Yep, the one and only.”

He can’t seem to understand why Eddie is knocking on his door, early in the morning, to ask about his dog’s whereabouts, but Steve still answers, “I think he’s playing outside. I opened the back door for him before I started breakfast. Why?”

“Remember that I told you someone was stealing my snowman’s nose?” Eddie asks, following Steve to the kitchen. Still lost, Steve nods. Eddie’s smile becomes a full-on grin. “I’ve just found the thief. Guess who it is.”

At first there’s nothing. Steve just stares at him with the same confused puppy look as before. But then something clicks, his brows fly up in shock as his eyes widen.

“That freaking dog!” In disbelief, Steve crosses the kitchen so he can look outside through the glass door and Eddie joins him. Cyrus is right there, just like he had been the last time Steve had looked, but he’s now clearly munching on something Steve knows wasn’t in the yard before. “How is he even getting out of the backyard? The gate is locked.”

“Don’t know, but as far as I know Cyrus is the only Husky around the neighborhood, and the little thief I saw snatching the nose out of my snowman was definitely a Husky.”

“I am so, so sorry,” Steve says, hazel eyes shining with guilt. “I promise I’ll check the yard later to see how he’s getting out.”

So. Damn. Cute. It’s bad for Eddie’s heart. He can’t take that much adorableness.

“Nah, that’s okay,” he says. With care, Eddie brushes a stray lock of hair out of Steve’s eyes, his fingers running down the soft skin of Steve’s cheeks before gently resting under his chin and tipping it up a little just as he leans in. “I thought the kids in the neighborhood were being little shits. But now that I know it’s Cy, I don’t really care.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks, his tone changing from apologetic to flirty in a second as Eddie’s hands finds his and tug him in until they’re sharing the same air. “What made you change your mind?”

“Well, I happen to like his dad very much, you know.”

“Wait. You mean his biological dad or—”

Chuckling, Eddie bumps their noses together in reprimand. “Oh, shut up.”

“It—she is! I don’t know what you’re seeing on there, but it’s not true.” 

You bit into your bottom lip in an attempt to quell the onslaught of tears prying at your eyes. Bucky took a step towards you, cautious. You were in the doorway, he was in the bedroom. If you wanted to leave there was nothing stopping you. 

“I want to believe you,” you choked out. “But I can’t. There is no other explanation for this, Bucky.” 

Why you were being kind, you had no idea. You should be angry, enraged. Furious. But more than any of that, you were miserable. This man you were besotted by, his brow twisted into an uncomfortable shape, his eyes flickering with panic, he was all you had considered. It was a lot to put that on a college relationship, but there was no one else. 

Bucky was so gentle with you. There was no one else in the world that knew how to kiss you right. No one that held you under the harsh lights of football stadiums and let you press your nose to their neck to warm it on those fall nights. There was no one able to distract you the way he did in the library, eyes boring into the side of your face without fail, smile small and private and years in the making. 

There was no one that could have hurt you this much. 

“What’re you seeing?” he asked, a rasp to his voice. The words were so small. 

It was cruel to make you read it aloud, to make you look at the pictures again, but you did anyway. “I’m seeing your ex-girlfriend's nudes plastered all over your phone. I’m seeing her text from last night—‘can’t wait to do that again,’” your voice broke, tears stinging your eyes. “I can’t believe you. You said… you said—” 

You couldn’t finish. It didn’t matter what Bucky had said—that he’d spun pretty words and promised you things that were impossible now. Your breathing was shallow as you flung his phone at the bed. 

He was quick to grab it, head shaking as he scrolled through everything you’d already seen. “No,” he whispered. “No, this isn’t—sweetheart, I would never do anything like this. Not to you.” 

You laughed, the sound wet and sardonic. “Well, you did. There’s no use acting like this, Bucky.” 

It had been risky with Bucky, at the beginning. College athletes were always risky. You had pulled away after the first date, assuming that was it; it had been fun, but there was nothing else he could have possibly wanted. But then he'd asked you on another. And another. The relationship has snowballed into something unexpected. You went somewhere and he followed. He called you every night and you brought him dinner after every game. 

This wasn’t something you had expected. Maybe a few years ago, but not now. This was unfair. It was agonizing. 

Bucky threw the phone back down without a second glance at where it landed. He took long steps to meet you in the doorway, and even though you knew it wasn’t smart, you let him hold you. He pressed his forehead to yours, your wet cheeks brushing his, his eyes boring into yours. 

This would be the last time. 

“Listen to me,” he spoke, more determined than you had ever heard him. “I don’t have an explanation, I only have the truth I got, baby. I don’t know how any of that shit got on my phone or whatever she’s talking about. You know she’s been on one lately. You gotta believe me.” 

A forlorn cry left your lips. Bucky was talking to you, but you were more concerned with the way he felt as he held you. 

This would be the last time. 

“You hearing me?” he asked, shifting to meet your gaze as it flew down to the floor. “Please, you gotta believe me. I love you so much, baby. Only you. There’s no one else in this goddamn world I would give that up for. After college, we're gonna go away, okay? Wherever I get drafted I’m taking you with me.” 

Everyone had told you you were being dumb. That athletes wander. That they have millions of options and you were just the pick of the moment. You had defended Bucky to no end. How idiotic. How unfair. 

A kiss pressed to your forehead, firm and steady from the way he held the sides of your head. Desperate. 

This would be the last time. 

“Say something. Anything. Please.”

“Goodbye, Bucky,” you whispered.

Later, much later, you’d learn that there were never any lies between the two of you. You’d learn that Bucky couldn’t explain because there was nothing he’d done. Getting someone’s phone was easy when they left it in a locker room all night. When they raced home to their girl after practice without a second glance at the thing. 

You couldn’t really fix him, but irredeemableness was hot sometimes.

You ran into each other for the first time about a decade ago, when you were only a young girl finding a place in the world. What caught his eyes all those years ago was the way you naturally knew morals were relative, but ethics were not. An eye for an eye, kill or be killed, that was the law of the wastelands — you realized this very soon, and your priorities were only to enjoy whatever time you had on this violent, destroyed, weird, but still beautiful Earth. 

He helped you get your very first job making inventories for a big store in a small town where he stopped by to collect bounty, and from then on you made quite a life for yourself. You knew mathematics, and you had quite the way with words. Being a young woman helped, too. Customers always liked pretty things. 

He visited you every now and then. You were his only ally left in this town. He came by when he could and stayed while he pleased, never one to announce his arrival or departure. Once he disappeared for two years, and you were sure he was dead — dead for real.

As always, he proved himself resistant. Like a radroach. 

You weren’t the least surprised when he walked in through the front door of your store like he owned the place, looking around and whistling in a complementary fashion. 

“Who’d you sleep with to get such a… prestigious job, sweetheart?”, his half smile matched his mischievous expression. That accent was unmistakable.

You closed the book you were writing the inventory, not bothering to greet or acknowledge him. 

“We’re closed”. 

“Even for dear ol’ friends?”.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did closed mean something else in the good ol’ days?”, your response was harsher than you thought, as you kept on organizing the balcony. He liked it, though, always one to nurture any violence you had within you, even if it was directed towards him. 

The half smile was still there. “Sweetheart,” his accent was really strong, and it was music to your ears, although you’d never admit, “you have a place full of them goods, and I got a handful of pretty little caps”.

“We can make this work”, you finally let your gaze meet his. He looked even less human than last time. The hole on the place where his nose should be no longer surprised you, but the yellow in his teeth did. You knew he could very well take better care of his hygiene. “What do you need? Clothes, perfume?”.

“Ouch! Kitty’s got claws”, he brought a hand to his chest, pretending to be hurt, and you realized his fingers were more necrotic, too. “I’d like that, yes, but I’d enjoy vials and a nice warm bath much more. Present company invited, but not required”. 

You walked from behind the counter, bringing yourself closer to him. He looked more tired than usual, also restless. His eyes scanned your body from head to toe, taking a little longer in some place. You crossed your arms in front of you, letting him look. As you well knew, customers liked pretty things. 

He took a deep sniff, and his eyes rested on your stomach. 

“You smell like a Christmas dinner, darling”, he took several steps closer, moving faster than you could. What he didn’t know was that, while you cleaned the counter, you got your pistol. Now, that pistol was aiming towards him. 

“You’re acting weird, friend”, if the years had taught you anything, it was to ever trust people, and never rely on the sanity of a ghoul. Even if it was the Ghoul.

He receded, arms up in surrender. “I wasn’t gonna hurt you, gorgeous”, he tilted his head, “I never have”. 

In the many years your paths crossed, he had been a friend, a customer, and sometimes a lover. He never let you please him, barely let you kiss him, but he enjoyed laying you on the bed like a meal and eating you out for as long as he could. This dinner comment of his wouldn’t have alarmed you, but paired with the shifting eyes and the appearance he had on today, you knew there was something wrong. 

“Took me a delicious vial some hours ago, sweetheart”, he spoke calmly, and you realized he understood. In your mind, at least, he saw the roughness in you and understood it. After all, he too had to compromise morals in order to prevail in a batshit world. You liked that he would make you feel understood, even if only for a small amount of time. But you liked surviving more, and better safe than sorry was your life motto. 

You lowered the gun. You weren’t even sure it would hurt him at all. “Why are you here?”.

“You always speak so correctly, doll. Enunciating every. single. word”, he took a step to the side, admiring the pieces behind your counter. The Ghoul looked back from his shoulder. “You’re on your period, huh?”

“What the fuck?”

“Us, ghouls”, he passed a finger on the top of the counter, examining his fingertips afterwards, looking for dust that wasn’t there, “we have a heightened sense of smell, and your blood is mighty fine”, he turned fully towards you, the entire length of the counter between you. 

You put the gun on the counter and crossed your arms. He wanted something, and whatever bullshit he thought he had to tell to get there was, quite honestly, just aggravating. 

You were about to repeat the question, why are you here, but you simply opened and closed your mouth. It would be better to call his name, then ask the question, but you didn’t know his name. Ten years, many encounters, countless times saving each other's asses, and you didn’t know his name. He didn’t know yours, but still. 

“Do ghouls bleed?”, you asked, instead, trying to avoid whatever emotions you just tapped into. Out of sight, out of mind.

He tilted his head. “Why, gorgeous, I don’t know where your mind just went. But I’m damn sure this ain’t the question you wanna ask”. 

You always felt anxious around him, for a number of reasons. If he decided you were better off as food, then you were a goner. If he decided he wanted to kill you, also bye-bye. But what if he did that thing he did sometimes, and looked at you with more humanity than any of the people you grew up with? What if he kissed your neck and made you wonder how touching his skin must feel like? The times you and him got physically involved, he was always very distant. Kept his clothes on, even his hat — except for the one time he let you use it. 

He would let you ride his tight, and he would finger you with gloved hands, too. He went down on you sometimes, and it felt incredible. But that was that. No kissing on the lips, no letting you see him unclothed. 

And that made you wonder…

“...did your dick fall off of you, too?”

“What the fuck?”, it was his turn to be shocked.

The words came out before you could even stop then. Both your hands went straight to your mouth, covering it as if you could it back. The Ghoul looked amused and annoyed at the same time. 

“If you want something, sweetheart, all you have to do is ask”. 

“I-I don-n’t, I didn’t m-mean i-it”, your words were incomprehensible as you tried to lighten the mood, mostly for yourself. Embarrassment didn’t suit you. 

He let out a tiny smile, and pointed to a pair of chairs you owned as if he was the owner. “Sit down”.

“You don’t have to…”, you wanted to make him feel comfortable, but you were far too uneasy to do so. Surely, your cheeks were flushed. 

“Just sit down, woman”.

And so you did. It was rare that the Ghoul would want to talk, let alone have an actual conversation. Truth be told, your curiosity got the best of you. 

“Simply put, yes ghouls bleed, yes ghouls have their, uh, genitals, fully intact. But that’s as far as I know, I don’t go around examining private parts in every ghoul I meet”, you both let out a quiet laugh. “Ask away”. 

Your confusion must have been clear on your face, because he followed: “You can ask me something, and I might reply. In return, you’ll give me some vials and food. Sound good?”

It sounded awful. Yet, you found yourself agreeing. You were a business woman, and information went a long, long way. You just had to be very careful and ask only the right questions. Not too personal, not too detached. And he knew all this, which was way starting off was easy, even if you were still a little embarrassed. 

“Does my blood smell that strongly?”

He let out a loud laugh. It was the first time, in all those years he was your acquaintance, he did so, and you thought it sounded lovely. 

“Yes”, he replied, his eyes darkening. Desire or hunger, you would never know. “Yes, it does. But all blood has a very pungent smell, so don’t go getting self-conscious".

“Would you ever kill me?”.

“Yes”, he said without a care in the world. “And I hope that, if it ever came down to my life or yours, you had the balls to shoot me in the head too”.

You nodded, once. 

“If you ever go feral and I find out, would you want me to kill you?”

He nodded, twice.

“I sure hope you’d do an old man a favor and end his miserable life if he ever lost his mind, girl”, again, there it was. That humanity in his eyes. That which would differ him from humans and ghouls. 

It made you all the more anxious as you looked at his fingers, which looked more necrotic than ever. You liked him, you considered him a friendly stranger and that was the worst part. You picked the flask from inside your coat and passed it to him. 

“Do you want to spend the night?”, you said as he took a long sip. 

He put the flask down and smiled, ever the heart-breaker. “Nah, sweetheart, I got some stuff to attend. I will take my stuff, though”. 

Disappointed, but not surprised, you went to the back to pick up the merchandise he needed. When you came back, his head was down on the table that sat in between the chairs you were using, and you rushed next to him. Eyes closed. 

Next to his mouth, some blood stained the table. 

You hit him once, twice. “Hey!”, you called, hoping to elicit some kind of response, but he was out. He wasn’t dead, but he was weak and passed out on your ‘for sale’ furniture.

The Ghoul coughed hardly, more blood coming out of his mouth, as he seemed to come to his senses slowly. He jumped a little, looking scared, and stood up taking you by your throat. 

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

You couldn’t reply even though you tried. He was choking you too hard, and not in a good way. 

He tossed you on the floor, and the impact against the counter hurt and made some things, some glass things, break. You knew your blood was probably everywhere, but you could only bring yourself to look at the Ghoul, your heart aching. 

The look on his face was not one of hatred, it was pure confusion and terror. He saw the bag of goods you had set aside for him, went towards it quickly and picked it up, all while you tried to sit up, mouth bloody and several cuts all over your arms.